A Sunday Afternoon
by An Old User
Summary: Avenue Q Rod thinks about Nicky, and their relationship. Both angsty and fluffy.


Sunday afternoons have a habit of being beautiful. Even the foggy or rainy ones are great. They're filled with some inexplicable sense of opportunity, as if something great was waiting somewhere out there, waiting for you to find and experience it.

It's so annoying. Sometimes I just can't stand it. I see most Sunday afternoons through the window of my apartment. The office is closed on Sundays, so that's the only way I can get extra work in. I may be the only person on Avenue Q with a steady (not to mention lucrative) job, and I can't afford to lose it. While this apartment isn't much, it's where I live. More importantly, it's where Nicky lives…

Nicky's away right now. He went off to "laugh at people in the park." That's so like him. He takes pleasure in the most random things. In little things that I don't even catch. It's like he sees the world in a different light. A brighter one. (He's so cute that way.)

Again, I think of how he's out there, smiling and laughing and having a great time doing nothing at all, while I sit in here. Pretending to work online. I won't be there to see that idiot laugh of his. I wish I hadn't turned him down. Oh, no, I had to shake my head at him and tell him I had work. Tell him that I couldn't do something so ridiculous. I turned it into an argument, and he finally stormed out without me. Yes, I certainly won that argument. I fought for my self-respect and won. Won the right to sit cooped up inside on a beautiful Sunday morning, thinking of him. Oh, how I wish I'd lost the argument. I wish he'd dragged me out of the apartment and taken me with him anyway.

(Dammit.) I'm already ahead in my work. I don't have anything to do anyway. I'm half-heartedly browsing through porn sites that Trekkie sent me. Ugh. I close the window and delete the other E-mails without opening them. I'll stick to sites more oriented to my…orientation, thanks. I try to check the market, but the numbers just slide around me. It's like trying to take a shower in a raincoat. Nothing's making contact. Nicky just keeps drifting into my mind, and it's starting to hurt. I pull one of Trekkie's E-mails out of the trash. Anything to keep my mind off Nicky. Even (My God what the HELL is that?) Trekkie's sites.

There's a jingle of keys at the door and Nicky walks in. He's drenched, and teary-eyed from laughter. Says he fell in a fountain or something. I open my mouth to tell him off for dripping all over the place, but the words just can't form. When I try to focus, my eyes wander back to his wet clothing. (Why was I wasting my time looking at Porn on the internet when something so simple as this would do the trick?) I find my voice, and the reproach spills naturally from my tongue. How could he be so careless? It's probably his own fault, anyway, and now look at the result. (Yes, looking at the result is a VERY good idea. Where the hell is a camera when you need it?) He's probably going to ruin the carpet, because who knows what else they put in the fountains besides water. Nicky rolls his eyes, and interrupts me. He starts to recount his afternoon, obviously trying to make me regret my choice to stay home. He doesn't have to try very hard. I regretted my choice as I made it. Upon completing his story, he leaves to change into dry clothes (Damn damn damn). He remembers some odd bit of today's episode and chuckles all the way to the bedroom. I could kill myself for passing up this afternoon.

I continue to absent-mindedly surf the internet, not really paying much attention to where I'm going. I find myself browsing the theatres, looking to see what's playing. That's something good about living in New York: the best shows always find their way here. There isn't a bad selection, and it's been a while since I've seen a show. I try to pick a play to go see. A night out is just what I nee-

Wait a minute. _The Producers_ is in town. That's the only play Nicky's managed to sit through without getting bored. I smile as my mind puts a plan together.

Nicky walks into the room, and asks what I'm so happy about. I point to the screen and ask if he'd like to go see a play. He blanches, thinking of his previous theatre experiences, and starts to decline, but then he sees the play. The look of displeasure is replaced with his signature grin, and he nods. I tell him that I'll order the tickets for Friday, but he's set upon seeing it tonight. I try to tell him that I've got work in the morning, but he narrows his eyes when I mention work. Hey, just because you're unemployed- No, I stop mid-sentence. That's what got me into this rut of self-loathing this afternoon. Coming up with excuses. I've gone to work on a few hours of sleep before, and I could easily do it again. I give in, and order two tickets for tonight. Habit makes me grumble over the "loss," but I'm also getting excited about seeing the play. I tell Nicky to go get changed into something theatre-appropriate. No, I know he just changed clothing, but simply wearing dry clothing does not count. He shrugs and walks off to change, yelling that if he has to change, I should too. I will, but first I'll need to make dinner reservations, call a cab…

From now on, I'm going to try to stop hiding. I need to spend more time with Nicky. It sounds funny, because we're already roommates. Sometimes I fell like I spend too much time with him. But that's because we spend too much time in arguments and stand-offs. We need to find more middle ground. After this play, I'll go walk with him no matter what stupid thing he's doing. I might find myself having fun.

I'll be with Nicky. No matter what we're doing, I'd rather be with him.


End file.
